Iscariot
by Paula Pulp
Summary: AU. Albert Wesker is content with life at Umbrella Academy - both highly intelligent and physically intimidating, he is easily at the end of the food chain. As he and his classmate, a certain W. Birkin, uncovers threats from within the school itself, Albert is forced to rethink his previous model of the world - where does this food chain begin... and where does it end? Vague W/B.


**Iscariot**

Prologue

Thursday  
September 23, 20xx

Who am I? That question frequently came up during adolescence, but not in _his_ train of though. And so, his silly subconscious had resorted to repeating it to him in his sleep. But every morning, when he ripped those covers off and wiped the sweat off of his forehead, he knew exactly who he was. When he had first entered this world, he had been born as 'son'. As another 'son' had been born, he had filled the role as 'brother'. He had then become the 'smart kid', then 'the athlete', then the 'intelligent young man' – currently, due to the previous roles he had been occupying, he had the honor of being 'Student 013' in a strange database. But, in the words of Shakespeare: _"[…] always I am Caesar"_ – and so was he always Albert Wesker, and so, everything was right in the world.

A light sleeper, this morning he had been awoken by the slight rustle of his roommate - this event was so common that Albert could by now, after half a year of roommateship, identify the different sort of rustling Student 156 might make during the night; this one was papers. Wanting to fall asleep again (a quick glance at the digital watch next to his bed revealed the time to be 04:55), he did not bother to so much as glance at the other boy. He knew what would appear before him - a dim light source, a desk lamp, illuminating a surface completely decked by various sizes of lined paper, some of them torn, some of them perfectly intact. The light would reflect in the thousands of illegible scribbles, letters, numbers, even sketches of microorganisms and their interactions.

This thought, the mess, seared itself into Alberts mind, and so, he had refused himself the chance to fall asleep again. He turned in his bed, shielding his eyes from the light, as he fumbled for his shades - it was sort of a silly solution, but since he was continually bothered by this happening, he had resorted to take the edge off of potential migraines by blocking out the light. The noise Albert made in his search did not in any way earn the attention of the scrawny shape at the desk, hunched over the notes, a stale cup of coffee by its side.

"Did you ever consider _organizing_ your findings, Birkin?" Albert proposed, Student 156 reacting with a slight twitch as he held up a finger for Albert to shush. Albert, who was not exactly one for being commanded, briefly contemplated pulling up his peer by the neck, to assert who should command who in Dormitory Room 013 - fortunately, his space case of a roommate seemed to be relatively well-aware when not in the midst of obsession, and these regular bouts of insanity _had_ proven to be fruitful for Albert.

Finally, the darkly-cushioned, metal desk chair screeched as Alberts roommate turned around in it - covered in shadows from the background illumination, eyes as dark pearls twinkling in the face of a blackened skeleton, Student 156 muttered: "A little too interested in my notes, are we?"

His features were hard to make out, but Albert suspected a slight smirk - a certain nuance in his voice gave it away to those who were observant enough. Although the boy was _very_ uptight when it came to his work, Albert had made the 'inner circle'… which probably consisted of only Albert (and perhaps a family member or two). But Birkin (somewhat) _needed_ his assistance (and probably also his friendly banter to not go insane), and was content with sharing credit with a guy who did around a fourth of the actual work (keeping an eye on Birkin and his basal needs was also necessary). Of course, Albert appreciated that.

"Yes. I plan on bludgeoning you to death, as soon as you translate every document into proper English."

"And you wonder why I have a hard time sleeping…"

"I always assumed it was something along the lines of _'science never sleeps'_… not primitive fear of me." Albert remarked as he sat up, relinquishing any sweet dreams he could've had in the next few hours. He rid himself of the covers that clung to him, stood up and immediately made his bed.

"Don't pull your rhetorics on me," he chuckled, "I know you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Birkins face reverted to his general smugness as he answered - one corner of the mouth turned upwards, a glimpse of white teeth. He spoke up, his voice beckoning for seriosity in spite of his jolly expression: "Don't refute my anxieties, Wesker."

Birkin was beyond cheerful, apparently enjoying this conversation. No wonder, as it was probably the first actual break he'd had in a period of at least ten hours work - Albert could remember Birkin coming straight from class and sitting right down, the previous day. From then to now, he had probably paused for the total of around an hour - having a cup of coffee, urinating, having a donut for dinner, having a cup of coffee, urinating, and then, more coffee.

As for his personal opinion on Student 156, he was not quite sure. As mentioned, he was intellectually superior to Albert - something quite rare for him to stumble upon. And it _did_ intrigue him. The slight paranoia _did_ entertain him, and he _was_ the only person with whom he had honestly seen eye to eye. As he had just confessed, Birkin knew very well that Albert would pummel him to death, should it earn him profit - who else would find that reasonable?

Birkin turned around in his chair. His face once again aligned with the wooden table, staring straight into a quick doodle. Albert was about to pick out an outfit for the day, as Birkin made another rustle, accompanied by a motioning with his hand, directed at Albert.

" Hey… take a look at this."

It was a beautiful friendship indeed.


End file.
